An Apology

As indicates the title, in this entry we are going to look at the first mistake that I committed in the new year. Well, this mistake, which we will elaborate in stunning details later on, was actually the inevitable outcome of what we’ve become, ah… I mean, what I’ve become lately. Through the many daily encounters and such, I’ve noticed that I’ve become quite complacent, because of my petty accomplishments so far, even somewhat stuck-up you can say. From time to time, I picked up traces of it, but it wasn’t exactly my cup of tea so I turned my back on it and pretended that I wasn’t becoming like that, that it was a thing of the fairy tales which didn’t exist in the real world, something to which I was immuned.

This situation lasted and wound like a spring which was destined to reach its climax and release the tension, or like a bow persecuted by a thousand enemies and clings to the balance with only a shivering arm trying with all its might to hold back the tide.

Hark!

The arrow shot through the sky with an unmistakable cry and the only thing the trembling arm could do was to bid it farewell, it knew it was no accident, it knew it had to give in, like a dam surrendering to the overwhelming aquatic pressure, first a leak and then disaster.

So the arm released that arrow and the archer wasn’t bright enough to know at that moment that he had committed something which, as a consequence, would make him sorry and then putting it on the internet for your viewing pleasure in a desperate attempt to free himself from his guilt and, mostly, humiliation.

The SMS message, characterized by inadecuate question and imprudent manner, generated a powerful answer, and immediately upon its arrival, it provoked annoyance and a bit of anger, indignant at who the hell you think you are to talk to me like that. So, in less than 2 seconds, Hermes carried back the one word reply. But, as soon as the archer sent the second arrow on its way, he finally scented his previous errors.

The sole reply to his messages was of industrial strength and humiliating, he was chided like a child, something which haven’t happened for years, and now by someone younger than he was.It was so embarrassing, so unforgiving, so oh why the fuck you said that for you stupid git? that it shook him out of his complacency and forced him to face the fact – that he was a complacent prick. So hastely, he mounted a third arrow and dispatched it to the othe end, carried by an apologetic air. However, more than two hours has already passed and he hasn’t yet received a sign that would release him from his anguish, the hour too late and the torment too great, so all that he can do now is to finish typing, retire to bed and hope that by tomorrow the cure will arrive.

Disconnection

All was quiet the other day in the office, jolly afternoon with soft breeze and tender sun. Then out of nowhere the unexpected came- a blackout, accompanied by simultaneous mournful cries of mouse manipulators who had not yet mastered the art of save and load, grieving over the sudden death of their loved ones. At the funeral, the once stilly office was now populated with voices.

Althea

Water of rem’mbrance didn’t I defy.
To recollect afresh pictures foregone,
Since not time be rewound, embeded my
Mind be with the smile of your eyes at dawn.
Time and Distance ran futile with their scheme,
To rid you off your throne. Yet forgetful
That the heart of heaven reigned not supreme,
Its rays dimmed by your eyes lure and dazzle.
From somewhere the roar of an earthquake came.
At the cry, echoed the land with a blue.
With its great flame, the sky it put to shame,
Cons'quently, I was drown'd in waves of You.
With it I shall journey on till the doom,
For this rhyme stands even the greatest fume.

Die Berliner Mauer

Been lurking around people's blogs, and my investigation so far leads me to the conclusion that no man is happy. Yet, they all look so merry. Yes, so joyful and animated, jolly good.

The other day at work they talked about one of the students losing control over himself and yelling something incoherent with a desperate and suicidal air. Funny how sunny he looked normally. But, after a second thought, it's not all that strange. When you make a mistake and try hard to pretend that nothing has happened, it just gets all the more obvious. No matter how good one is at pretending, you can always catch him off guard, provided that you know how to look. Provided that you know how to look at yourself.

Frustrating it is when someone tries to escape from this hell and his every attempts been met with doors shut tight, doors of false images, concived by himself and those around him.

In order to breach the wall, one must not harbour clouded vision for it only lures and misguides. Fear is another major benefactor in the construction and maintenance of this abyss, like a well-trained watchdog, it keeps one at bay. It sinks its teeth into you and leaves you bleeding to death should you tumble upon its territory. And if one fails in the task of breaking free, then the downfall is destined, it's just a matter of time and the way it is brought about.

درس فارسی

Well, in two days the first semestre of me working as a teaching assistant is about to end. Though this doesn't mean vacation it does spell something else. I have to say I've had a great time with my students, although with most of them we haven't really done anything together yet, I'm not sure if I should maintain the status quo because only one more semestre is left (if I'm not keep working that is).

With this half year gone, the five months just transformed into a weight heavier than 16-ton and pressing me from every possible corner. It's the one thing that haunts me incessantly right now. I can't do anything without thinking about it. It is particularly disturbing when you're in a time trial against the clock.

And disturbing it is for precisely because of it I have to quit my Persian lesson. The other night I felt like shit when I walked out of the classroom with my final-term exam and Manouchehr wishing me good luck with my thesis. Well, the thing is, first, I don't like quitting, the act itself is demoralizing, but unfortunately, necessary, you just have to bow down sometimes. And second, I feel like I've been wasting his time for not studying in the last few weeks of the semestre. The hardest part is that he's a devoted teacher and you just feel bad when you're not doing your best to match up with his enthusiasm. He came done all the way from Taipei more than once, made recordings, Skype sessions after the class and things like that just to make sure that I can follow.

The last time he came down, if my memory serves me right, was during the documentary festival. Now thinking about it, funny it's already been a while. The weather was quite good back then, unlike the bleaky sky we have right now. Yeah, the grass is always greener, eh?

Man's Crisis of Identity

The bookmark Gloria gave me smells like her, or is it vice versa?

The Meanings

of some meetings are obscure and elusive. It's like driving in the thick fog.

Subject: First Reminder for Luis Sotto's Birthday on Saturday December 30th

I was completely taken by surprise when I saw the title in my inbox. Says on the page that appeared, after I clicked on the link: "Schuma - Which card will put the biggest smile on Luis's face?" "None of them, because he's dead." Or, more precisely, he's been dead for almost half an year.

***

These days I've found myself following closely to the ongoing Ipswich murder case and checking the BBC site at every given moment for the latest news and the identities of the last 2 victims. Sincere and strangely, I was hoping that Paula Clennell wasn't one of them. When the police identified her as the fifth girl dead, I found myself letting out a great sigh, staring expressionlessly at the monitor, same reaction when Dennis Rodman made that goddamn 3-pointer againt the Jazz in the finals. Disbelief and a sense of total powerlessness. Well, this reaction was probably shared by many because we have seen the anguished look on her dad's face and in his words and we're all imagining what kind of torment he is going through right now. We suppose than we feel it, supposedly. Masking and fabricating ones feelings.

Depressing news are always in stock, unrest in Somalia, in Iraq, in Gaza, murders, suicides, and what eles? umm, let me see... poverty, diseases, nuts, whatever the fuck, etc. etc. Eveytime, in the face of such news, one just can't help wondering, for what?

Why all these sufferings? These happinesses? Why all these feelings at all? If one should vanish into nothing in the end then, what's the point? Gary Tarn, the pom director I met in the documentary festival, said that the meaning of life is life itself. But I just can't help wondering what if life itself is nothing, then what's it all about? If life is nothing then the lives of our children are also nothing, and the same applies to all life forms on earth because when they reach the end of their life spans they all turn into nothing, then it's just an endless and meaningless continuance of nothingnesses which amounts to, naturally, nothing in the end (where is the end?). Nothing at all. A thriving planet, full of lives would be nothing but empty words. Philosophy, knowledge, education, love, a better future, all cease to have any significances for if life is nothing, all is nothing. It's all in vain, and a better future, for what? For nothing.

Someone said nothing will come out of nothing, it's quite true, but it's rhetoric in essence so it could also be false, depending on the context. It's just too buggering all these nothingnesses and it makes life unnecessarily harder because living without knowing for what, without knowing the Answer is no comfort at all.

Withering Flower

The freshness of blogs got worn out sooner than expected, but that's probably not such a bad thing considering how busy I'm right now. I've deleted almost all my blog bookmarks, except those that belong to my friends, you know, spying on them and such. There was a minor resurrecction these couple of weeks, but now it's all quite again. I don't know, it could be that because I'm busy so I can't spend the usual amount of time reading blogs, but that's self-deceiving really because I also spend an aweful lot of time on news and Solitaire.

Hahn said she had already given up on blogging for it had become too mainstreamish. I guess that was probably one of the reasons why I stopped my blog-reading activity, too mainstreamish, too full of shit. However, being mainstreamish doesn't necessarily make it crappy. Probably it was all that plug-ins, musics and clips and stuff like that, too dazzling for me, like an exquisite yet empty firework, a lack of creativity. Perhaps it was because there simply is too much information out there and my brain suffered from blackouts from time to time. Or maybe I was tired of this futile attempt to find some communication.

Incomunicación